I remember the first time I saw my schoolteacher naked. I’d returned from lunch early to avoid being alone in a crowd; I preferred to be alone whilst alone. I opened the door and found Miss Kempt, laying back in her chair with her eyes closed. Both ankles were resting on the desk as she reclined, knuckle deep inside herself, with a sanitary towel clinging on to the gusset of her panties which itself hung from one knee. For some reason, it reminded me of the pathetic bunting we’d put around the corridors with messages of learning and wisdom, quotes from dead cunts we didn’t care about telling us to learn stuff we didn’t care about so we could grow up and get jobs we didn’t care about, and meet partners we didn’t care about and have children…. well, you get the idea.
I snuck out before she could notice I was there and took my boner into the boy’s bathroom. I showed it to the weird kid in the class next to ours in exchange for three sticks of gum and four packets of stickers. He just stared at it for a while, breathed on it, tried to touch it but then flinched away like it was an exposed electrical socket. With a last wheeze from his stuffed nose, he gulped hard and ran into a cubicle, slamming the door behind him. I zipped myself up and left, my head feeling light and without blood.
When we all finally returned to class, Miss Kempt was on her knees sponging the floor, next to a bucket of pale, pink water.